Hank's Day
by ashatanii
Summary: Hank earns his stripes.
1. Chapter 1

Hank's Day

Jim pressed the send button on his laptop and his report winged its way to the Boss with copies to the rest of the squad. The blonde detective stood and stretched his shoulders, enjoying the pull of tired muscles from his morning workout. He walked over to join his partner at the water fountain.

Russo watched, made a face, and decided Jim looked a little too relaxed, he needed to be brought back to earth. Marty tapped his pen staccato on his desk, something he knew annoyed Jim. "Don't gloat, Dunbar. It wasn't anything you did that got your missing kid back."

"Did I say anything, Marty?" Jim made a swipe for the pen as he passed and grinned as he missed but the pen went flying. Chances were Marty would be on his knees under the desk in a second.

Tom backed up his partner, "Didn't have to Jim, you're belching budgie feathers."

Jim stopped and gave Tom a "what the?" expression.

"You know, like the cat that ate the canary."

Climbing back out from under his desk with his pen, Marty summed it up for him, "So now you're belching budgie feathers."

"Got it." Jim put his hand to his mouth politely. "Excuse me."

Tom and Marty laughed quietly and Jim leaned over to get a drink from the fountain, "I'm ready for something …juicy," he said quietly to Karen.

"What, a robbery at a fruit stand?" Karen laughed. She too was a little bored. Their last case was a missing person who turned up not so missing within 24 hours.

"No, something we can really sink our teeth into," Jim smiled. "You know; do some good detective work." Jim relished a challenge and he knew Karen did too, no matter that she was scoffing now.

"That's sick, Jim. Careful what you wish for, you just might get it," Tom commented as he walked past.

"Dunbar? You up?"

"Yes, Boss."

Gary was pleased, Jim was good in cases involving children, never letting the difficulties with child witnesses get in the way, and he was always on the kid's side. Fisk had been particularly impressed with his handling of that Crider case some time ago. The whole squad, Fisk included, had been sure it was the local child porn perp. Jim hadn't taken things at face value but dug deep to find the real perpetrator of the crime.

"Here, take this," Fisk walked out and put a note in Jim's hand. "Child abuse case. Hurry, Child Services want to pick up the children, but I told them they'd have to wait for you, in case you wanted to do interviews before too much else happened."

Karen took the note from Jim and read the address. "Child abuse, why do we have it?" she asked the Lieutenant.

"Because one of the kids is likely to die before the end of the day." Fisk's voice was hard but she could see in his eye that he wasn't as immune to the situation as he liked to make out. "So I said we'd take it while it's fresh."

Jim's face fell. This was not at all what he had in mind.

Determined not to lose a minute or a shred of evidence, they raced, siren screaming, to house where the ten-year-old boy had been assaulted and left unconscious.

They pulled up with a jerk and Karen threw open her door. "EMS are loading someone, probably the kid that they think won't make it," Karen informed her partner.

"Go take a look, don't delay them but have a good look. If he's unconscious, take photos."

"Okay. We're parked across the road. House and bus are about 11 o'clock from your door." Karen slammed the driver's door and hurried so she could see the victim without delaying the ambulance.

Jim took Hank from the back of the car. He listened for traffic but the street was quiet and he motioned Hank forward.

As they stepped up onto the curb on the other side, Jim was met by a uniformed officer, "Detective Dunbar?"

"Yes."

"Officer Vance, Sir. The house is this way."

"Let's go." Jim motioned Hank to follow the uniformed officer and together they walked toward the house. "Were you the first on the scene?"

"Yes. It's pretty bad. Young boy, maybe 10 years old, beaten and unconscious. There are another three children who don't seem to have been harmed. But they were sitting with him when we arrived."

"Okay." Jim nodded. "Let's go to the ambulance first."

As they approached, Jim could hear Karen's camera going. She took three, now four shots before the Medic was satisfied the child was ready to move. From the conversation between the medics, Jim picked up that they had placed the child in a neck brace and put a full backboard under him. "We're ready to go…"

"I'm done, thanks." Karen turned to Jim and together they made their way up the steps of the old house. Officer Vance stayed streetside. The detectives stopped outside the main doors. "You want me to talk you through these photos now?" When Jim shook his head, she gave him the quick version. "Massive blow to the back of the head, lota blood. The way he was lying the guys are worried he might have a broken neck. His breathing was stable. Cuts and bruises to the face and arms." She turned away for a moment, "Is that the officer first on the scene?"

Jim nodded and raised his voice a little, "Officer Vance?"

"Here." The uniformed cop stepped up to the two detectives now in charge.

"Exactly what you found. From the top," Jim ordered.

Lola Vance, first year on patrol, explained how an anonymous call had come in. An out of breath male, saying someone was dead in the house. Lola and her partner had arrived to find a three-year-old, a six-year-old, and an eight-year-old sitting silently around the unconscious victim. The children hadn't spoken at all. Lola's partner, Officer David Bowen, was in with the children now.

"No parents around?" Jim asked.

"No one that we could find. Neighbors know nothing."

Jim looked disgusted. "When you searched the home, did you see any photographs?"

"Yes, Sir, I believe there were some in the bedroom."

When Jim waited without responding, she continued, "Family type shots, a woman, perhaps thirty, the children we found, and a male in his thirties."

"We'll need those for the canvass." Jim was pleased, it was an advantage. "The 911 call, what time did it come in?"

"14:05. We got here at 14:22 but the boy; I'd say he'd been there for a long time, maybe hours."

Jim checked his watch, 16:20. Anyone fleeing would be gone by now, but a canvass might yield something. "Karen, we need to find out how the caller knew about this?"

Officer Vance spoke up, "I spoke to him, Detectives. It was a mail dropper, you know, they deliver pamphlets? The front door was partially open. Apparently he saw the kids and the blood and went to the phone booth across the road. He waited by the door until we came."

"He still here?"

"Yes, Sir." Lola looked over her shoulder at the man who sat on the wide porch, twisting his hat in his hands and looking green.

Jim nodded briefly and turned back to Karen, "We need to get a canvass going. Is there a second patrol here?"

"Yep, they're standing by. You want them now?" Karen tossed her head at Vance who hurried down the stairs again to the patrol car parked on the street.

Jim nodded, "You go talk to the caller, I'll brief the patrol and they get onto the canvass."

"Sure." Karen smiled at the frightened man on the porch as she walked over.

Lola was back with the second patrol. "Detective Dunbar, this is Officer Wilkins and Officer Renshaw."

"Good, go get me those photographs."

Jim briefed the patrol officers and told them to call in any information as they got it. As Lola arrived back with the photographs, he asked her to give one to each of the patrolmen. "You see anyone who looks like this, or could be related, I want to talk to them."

"Yes, Detective." The men left on foot.

"The caller knows nothing." Karen said, returning from her interview.

"Alright," Jim turned to Officer Vance, "How are the children now?"

"They're quiet. Not saying anything. Child Services was here before, I think we should let them go as soon as possible."

"No," Jim shook his head. "They may know who did this. My partner and I will interview them as soon as we've taken a look around. Get them ready."

"Yes, Sir." The female officer tried unsuccessfully to hide her upset as she went inside. Karen gave her a reassuring smile.

The concrete stairs up to the house were wide and littered with rubbish. The front door creaked and stuck about half way open, inside a single bulb lit a hall way. "This place is falling apart, Jim, the door doesn't even open the whole way."

Jim followed Hank through the narrow gap, his shoulder brushed the door and dust fell. Jim wrinkled his nose and Hank sneezed. Inside a stale and moldy smell permeated the air. The floorboards were bare and gritty, their steps echoed down the hallway.

Karen peered around the gloomy corridor and began describing the scene. "Standard floor plan for an old tenement. Bare hallway, two doors off to the right, first at about six feet, next one ten feet further. Stairs on the left, ending midway between the two doors and the blood pool is a foot or two from the end of the bottom step. There's a door at the end of the hall and a single bulb lighting the hall so it's hard to see much."

Jim smelled dust and damp under the thick odor of congealed blood.

"Site of the body first." Jim nudged Karen toward the blood pool.

The house creaked when they walked and the murmur of a children's program on TV filtered through the first door as they passed.

"Blood smeared on the wall, looks like a small hand. Maybe he tried to rise up again." Karen squatted to get a closer look. "Yes, the blood has been scraped off a bit of the floor… like he tried to stand, slipped in the blood and fell again."

"Much lost from the medics at the scene?" Jim referred to the inevitable destruction of evidence when medics operated at a crime scene.

"No, a few boot prints, that's about all. This blood is interesting, there's really two pools, one at the bottom of the stairs, near the handprints, and then another a bit further on." She looked to Vance for confirmation.

"Yes, Ma'am, when we arrived, he was in this second pool. He was here, lying pretty much face down."

"Pretty much?" Jim asked for clarification.

"Well, his head was turned, right cheek on the floor, and one leg was kind of under him."

"You photograph that?"

"No, Sir."

"Alright. Thanks." Jim turned to Karen and walked a few steps on. Lola returned to the front door. "Could the victim have _fallen_ down the stairs?"

"I guess it's possible, but it's too dark to tell if there is blood on the stairs."

"I have a flashlight, Detectives?" Officer Vance spoke from the doorway.

Karen took it and stepped past Jim. "Stay there." Karen stood to the side of the stairs, shining the light on the boards of the stairs at head height. "Okay, yeah, I can see blood on the stairs and they're a bit… crumbly."

"Like the edges are giving way?"

"Yeah."

"The injuries on the child. Could he have sustained them falling down the stairs?" Jim chewed his lip. "Look for a step where the edge is damaged, and there's blood pooling under it."

Karen took her time, she checked each step in turn, then pointed the flash light to the floor again. "Lots of damaged steps but I can't see any with a major pool. It looks like most of the blood is on the floor. Also his bruises, the ones on the face." She watched Jim nod, indicating that he was following her change of thinking. "Some of them looked old."

"Alright we'll have to ask CSU to locate the most likely impact point." A new idea seemed to occur to him. "I don't suppose there's a weapon around?"

"No."

"Any footprints on the stairs?" Jim frowned searching his mind for similar scenes and evidence he had found in the past. "In the blood?"

"Maybe, yes, small ones, lots of them and some larger ones." "Karen bent close. "Looks like a large boot, a man I'd say. Some female boots maybe."

"So, even if he fell, someone came down afterward and didn't give him any aid?"

"Looks like it," she agreed.

"So this person may or may not have blood on them?"

"No way of knowing that, Jim."

He nodded. "Sometimes when someone falls or is pushed, or is in a hurry, they snag their clothes, anywhere they could have done that?"

"There're some ragged edges on the banister but, no I can't see any bits of clothing."

"Fingerprints?"

"Not in this light, Jim." Karen felt disappointed too. "I'll make sure CSU know to bring good lighting. It'd be real nice to get a bloody fingerprint."

"Anyone touched that door handle, Officer Vance?" Jim asked, turning back toward the front door.

"Ah, yes, Sir. The kid who opened it." She cleared her throat, "And I think one of us may have also, although we did wear gloves but…"

Jim nodded, it happened. Every cop was trained not to contaminate a crime scene, and every cop had done it. In a hurry to help someone, not realizing what they were doing, or just plain forgetting protocol. "Hope it isn't the only place with the perp's prints." Jim also knew that one learned these things the hard way. He made sure she knew what she may have lost here before continuing with his questions, "Have you been upstairs?"

"Yes, Sir. I checked the rooms for more children or the assailant. They're empty. I tried not to contaminate the stairs…" Officer Vance looked to Karen, worried.

Karen gave her a hard look. Then nodded; she'd made the right call, checking upstairs was important. "Her footprints are easy to pick out, probably no harm done."

"Is there a kitchen at the back?" Jim gestured down the hallway.

"Yes, sir. Pretty empty too, a table some chairs; no food."

"Alright." Jim turned to Karen. "How about you look upstairs?" He cocked his thumb at the room where the children waited, "I'll listen in and then we'll see the kids one at a time in the kitchen?"

"Sure." Karen headed up the stairs.

Jim addressed the officer, "No food in the kitchen you say?"

Vance shook her head, then looked up at the waiting detective, cleared her throat and spoke in a louder than necessary voice, "Ah, oh, sorry, um, no. The kids look pretty skinny too. Half starved."

Jim pulled his wallet from his jacket. "Here, have someone go buy up some food, I think there's a MacDonald's not far from here. Happy meals or something." He took out a note folded lengthways and held it out. "Make sure the receipt comes back with the change."

"Yes, Detective." Lola was glad to get away. It seemed the stern detective with the guide dog had earned his reputation of toughness, and she wasn't eager to find out what else she had done wrong.

Jim motioned Hank forward and followed him to the door of the room where the children were. He listened. The TV was on, a children's program ran quietly. No voices. He could hear Karen upstairs, opening and closing doors. His lips pursed as he thought about the scene around him. A child hurt and left, probably beaten, no mother present, no father present, three more children having witnessed what could turn out to be the murder of their brother. There were no good endings to a story like this. All he could do was handle it with compassion and care. Care enough to find who did this; who was responsible for this tragedy. Compassion enough that the children felt they could tell him what they knew. He closed his eyes. He'd seen far too many people traumatized in situations like this to imagine there could be a happy ending.

"You ready?" Karen's voice pulled him forcibly from his thoughts. He should have heard her walk up, but she must have been almost silent on the stairs, taking care to plant her feet so she didn't disturb anything.

"Sure, let's set up in the kitchen, we'll need the recorder and then I guess as soon as Vance is back, you go with her and bring them in one at a time."

Officer David Bowen looked surprised. "You want the youngest first?"

"Yeah, their memories go quicker and it lessens the chance of collusion." Karen explained.

The three-year-old came quietly, going into Karen's arms without a word. But her eyes filled with tears and she looked imploringly at her sister, whose hip she had just left. "It's okay little one. You'll be right back." Karen turned to the sister who kept her eyes on her lap. "What's her name, sweetie?" But there was no response from the older child, who acted like she didn't hear Karen's question.

The six-year-old boy sitting next to his sister wiggled closer and held her hand. He looked at Karen with anger buried deep in his eyes and clenched his jaw closed.

Karen felt tears dripping onto her arm. She looked at the silent child. Jim was good with kids, but Karen held no hope this one would say anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

With Officer Vance in the corner and the recorder going, they were ready to interview. Karen sat down beside Jim, with the child docile in her lap. "Jim, this is the smallest girl, she's about three. We don't know her name."

Jim had taken off his coat, jacket and his glasses. He smiled and patted Hank's head, resting on his knee. "Three?"

"I'd guess."

"Did _I _say start with the youngest?" he asked ruefully.

Karen almost smiled. "You did."

"Sweetie, this is Karen, and I'm Jim. We are here to help your brother and we need to ask you some questions. Okay?"

The little girl nodded.

"That's good, sweetie." Karen said.

"Okay. Did you see who hurt your brother?" No answer. "You can just shake your head like this or nod if you want." Jim demonstrated. There was no movement from the child who just started at him with big tearful eyes.

He held out some french fries. "You hungry?"

Karen watched the little girl's eyes grow wider. The tears stopped and the tension in her body rose. "It's okay, Honey, you can have them," Karen said gently and moved closer so that the fries in Jim's outstretched hand were just in front of the little girl who looked up at his face. His soft blue eyes were turned in her direction and he had a sad smile on his lips. He waited.

She reached out and took a handful in her little hand.

Karen couldn't tear her eyes from the scene in front of her. What should have been a chubby hand was thin. Slender fingers, dirty nails closed around several fries and brought them to her mouth. Keeping her eyes on Jim's face, the child pushed the fries into her mouth in and chewed. Before she had swallowed, she reached out again. Suddenly stopping mid reach, fear took over her face. "It's okay, have as many as you like," Karen said. The child's big dark blue eyes blinked slowly and she looked to Jim for permission.

"As many as you like, little one." Jim smiled gently, still holding the fries out. He could feel the trembling of the girl's hand as she took more, first in one hand and then the other.

Hank sat, with his head on Jim's knee watching the little girl. His big brown eyes never left her face.

The two detectives waited while she ate. "That one's finished. Would you like something more?" Karen asked.

"Some milk?" Jim turned to the table and picked out a carton of milk from the food he had lined up.

The girl shook her head and red curls bounced. "No?" Karen asked. "Juice?"

A smile lurked at the edges of the child's mouth but she just looked at Karen, saying nothing.

"Juice?" Jim asked.

"Looks like that's what we want." Karen's smile reached her voice and Jim took the juice box, got the straw in and held it out. The little girl reached out and placed two hands around Jim's, around the box.

"You got that?" he asked.

She nodded. "Can you hold that on your own?" he asked the question turning his head slightly. "I need you to tell me with words, honey." She stared at him.

"Yes." Her voice was a small whisper but clear.

"Okay." He let go of the box.

She sucked and sucked, barely drawing breath until it was gone. Then she burped. Karen felt like laughing but followed Jim's lead. He didn't react at all.

"Was that good? Is there anything else you want?" Jim sat back a little and she looked past him to the row of food. Her eyes lit up when she saw the cookie box.

"You like the cookies?" Karen asked her. At her nod, Karen moved closer to Jim, "You can have them if you want."

"Cookies? Here, show me." Jim held his hands out and the child stepped from Karen's lap to Jim's. With one arm around his neck, she reached for the cookies with the other. She grabbed them and sat down in his lap with the box between her hands.

"You need help to open those?" He felt her nod.

"We'll ask Karen to help, shall we?" The child nodded and held out the box. "Can you ask her? Her name is Karen." Jim whispered in her ear.

"Please." The little voice was high pitched like any three-year-old.

"Of course, I can." Karen took the box and opened it. She handed it back. The small child took a cookie from the box and put it in her mouth. Then she held the box out toward Jim, offering him one. "Jim, she's offering you a cookie."

"Oh, thank you." Jim wasn't sure where the box was, he didn't want to risk fumbling for it, but to say no could endanger the bridge they were building with the timid child.

He raised his hand and Karen reached out to guide it to the box but the child was closer, she took Jim's large hand in hers and moved it to the box. "Here is, Mr. Jim."

"Thank you, sweetie." Jim took a cookie. "Um, what do I call you? What's your name?"

"Joowie."

"Julie?" Jim repeated with a smile.

She nodded, her mouth fool of cookie.

"That's a nice name." Jim took a sip of his coffee. "When you've had enough, do you think you'll be ready to tell us who hurt your brother?"

The little girl sighed a big adult sigh and looked from his face to Karen's. She nodded. "Popa." Then she sniffed and big tears welled and flowed from her eyes. She put her head into Jim's shirt and cried. He patted her head. "Good girl, Julie, you're a good girl." He held her, and stroked her while she sobbed silently. Soon her indrawn breaths were deep shudders and she began to fall asleep against his chest.

"Would you like to go back to your sister now?" Jim asked.

"Yes." The voice was so small he almost missed it.

"Alright. Will you come back and talk with us later?"

She nodded into his shoulder.

"Shall I get the next one?" Karen asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'll come." He stood with the child in his arms. "Hank, stay." Jim took Karen's arm, and they left the kitchen.

Officer Vance could not turn from the window, tears streaming down her face. She wondered how Detective Dunbar had ever gotten a reputation as a harsh man.

Jim called the Lieutenant to bring him up to date.

"You want Russo and Selway?" Fisk asked.

"Yeah, we could use the help, I want to stick with the kids, and we've got uniforms on canvassing."

"I'll send them down."

The eldest daughter, Sophie, had explained to Michael, the five-year-old, that he should talk to the nice police man. That it might help their brother Bradley. But Michael had clammed up and closed his arms over his chest, frowning.

He took his bribe and ate three happy meals complete with juice and cookies. He eyed Jim, Karen and Officer Vance with suspicion and said nothing. He snuck french fries to Hank, who was given a silent eat command when Jim was alerted; anything to try and help the child feel more in control, and perhaps more willing to speak. But it was all in vain.

Finally, Michael was allowed to go sit in the TV room with his baby sister, and the eldest, Sophie, was ushered into the kitchen. As expected, the gentle handling of her siblings, the food they had been given, and the forewarning of what was going to be asked made her feel comfortable enough to talk to Jim and Karen. She didn't eat but sat quietly and answered their questions without looking up at them

Unfortunately she knew precious little. The name she gave as a surname was Smith. She didn't know her father's first name. Her eldest brother, the one who had been injured, was Bradley, he was ten. His father had become angry at Bradley that morning, shouting and threatening to kill him, which was not uncommon. She didn't know what her brother had done to upset Poppa and seemed surprised that Poppa might have a reason to be angry. Sophie had remained in the children's bedroom, just like he had told her to so that Poppa didn't get mad at her or the children.

"How often does this happen, Sophie?" Jim asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes." Finally Jim and Karen extracted the story in little pieces. The father didn't live at the apartment, but several times a week, he would come home. Bradley would tell the children to hide in the bedroom and go talk to the man who would leave them some food. Their brother would then come and get them as soon as Poppa had left. Often he was hurt, bruises and cuts, but this morning had been different. It had been a long time and he hadn't come. Sophie had sneaked down the stairs to find Bradley lying on the floor. There was a lot of blood this time. The children had sat and waited for Bradley to wake up and then the police had come. When Jim asked about her mother, Sophie just went quiet and answered no questions at all.

"Sophie, Bradley is in the hospital now, and the doctors are trying to help him. Wouldn't he like it if his mother was with him now?" Karen tried.

Sophie looked at her hands folded in her lap and said nothing.

"Sophie, when did you last see your Mother?" Jim's voice was gentle but made no impact. The child acted as if she heard nothing. "I think we're done for now. Karen?"

"Yeah," Karen answered. "Sophie, you can go back to your bother and sister now. Someone will look after you and Michael and Sophie until we find your Mom."

Jim stood and went to the door. "Officer Vance?"

"Yes, Detective."

"Take Sophie back to the TV room. Child Services can take the children now, but they need to be kept together and be available. Will you make sure we know where they are and how to contact them if we need them in a hurry?"

"Yes, Detective Dunbar. I'll get the number to you as soon as I have it," Lola said on her way out to make arrangements.

"What mother would leave her kids alone?" Karen asked the question that had risen in their minds as soon as Sophie had described the situation.

Jim shrugged, "Maybe the guy killed the mother too?"

He held up a hand, "But it's important we don't jump to conclusions here. We need to find the guy. Sophie said he came to collect the mail. There's a chance that he ran when he saw what he did to the kid and left the mail. It might provide a way to find him."

"I'll go look."

"Meet you at the car. I want to get to the hospital fast." Jim and Hank were up and heading out.

Karen searched but if there had been any mail, the man had taken it when he fled.

"…so he's not up to talking yet, and when is I don't know what he'll remember."

The doctor opened the door to a small office. "We can talk in here." He took the seat behind the desk. Karen directed Jim to a chair and took the one next to him. Hank settled in between them. "What do you need to know?"

"First of all, if you could list the injuries the boy has and then we'd like to discuss how he would have received them," Jim explained.

"Right, well, let's see." The doctor cleared his throat. "Bradley has been hit on the face, the head, and the neck several times. He also has a fractured vertebra near the base of his spine. On his left, both the bones around the orbital socket have been shattered and shards of the bone entered his eye. His cheek is broken and he has several fractures of the skull. He also has broken bones in his left hand. The fracture at the back of his head is particularly worrying because it has compressed the spinal cord somewhat, although there doesn't appear to be any tearing so once swelling is reduced chances are the symptoms that is creating will disappear."

"What are the symptoms, Doctor?" Jim asked.

"He has some numbness in his right side extremities and weak pain response."

"As in, he may be paralysed?" Karen asked.

The doctor shook his head, while he searched for the answer, "Probably not full paralysis but some loss of function, sensation, strength."

"Doctor, we're not parents worried about his prognosis, we're detectives looking for the man who did this to him. And we're more used to getting ME reports on bodies and looking over wounds ourselves." Jim waited a moment for his words to sink in. "The next thing we need to know is what you think caused this. Was he hit with a weapon? Bare hands? Is it possible a fall down the stairs could have done it?"

"Oh, no, no. Not possible at all for a flight or two of stairs. No, these were repeated blows with either a blunt object like a baseball bat or possible with bare fists and some kicks. Possibly the lower vertebra fracture could be from a fall but not the other injuries." He looked from one detective to the other. "Whoever did this came within inches of killing the child. As it is he'll need months of rehab to have any chance of walking, he has lost his right eye and there is a possibility of damage to the vision in his left. No, he was definitely attacked."

"The damage to his hand would have been from trying to protect himself?" Jim asked.

"Yes, exactly." The doctor stood, "I can show you the X-rays."

He pushed films onto the light board and ran a pen along the breaks in the face bones and then along a crack along the back of the skull explaining them as he went. "Thank you doctor, can you get us copies of those?" Karen asked.

"Anything you need to get whoever did this, it's yours. I see some horrible things here, as I am sure you are aware, but this is one of the worst."

"Do you know when we'll be able to talk to the boy?" Dunbar asked.

"I'm sorry. We had to wake him after the anesthetic but he's sleeping now and I'd rather he slept for as long as possible. I'd prefer to leave it until he wakes naturally. Even then I'm afraid you'll have to limit your questions." The doctor spoke with a mix of protectiveness and regret.

"That's okay. Here's our number, call us when he's awake." Jim held out his card and the doctor took it.

At the boy's cubicle Karen saw a small form under the white sheets. Monitors with green lines and blue flashes sent tendrils of IVs and electronic sensors to his body. His face was bandaged and all she could see was tousled red curls and some pale skin, spattered with freckles. His left hand was in a cast, and the right had an IV taped to the back. The nurses were serious and quiet. The uniformed protection sat beside him with a newspaper unopened on his lap.

"What time are you here 'til?" Karen asked the man.

"I'm here to four am, then Hendersen will take over. You don't have to worry, Detective, no one will get near him." Hendersen gave her a steady look. "I have a boy at home, same age. I don't know how anyone can do this, they're still just little boys?"

Jim appreciated the quiet voice of the officer. Even if it was urgent that Jim question the boy, he had an idea of the pain the boy would wake to. He wouldn't hurry that for anything. "Let's get going, Karen." He nudged, the sounds of the hospital settling in for the night brought back too much.

"So where are we at?" Lieutenant Fisk asked the squad at the start of their tour.

"We're tracking the father down, that warrant got us the mail that was due to be delivered to the house today. Hopefully it will give us his identity," Karen said indicating the pile of mail on Jim's desk.

"The kid's not awake yet?"

"No, but we'll stop by. We've arranged for the older sister to see him, and I'm hoping we can get some more from her. If he wakes we'll talk to him," Jim answered.

"You two?" Fisk turned to Tom and Marty.

"We're trying to find the mother. We'll spread out. Canvass the probable places she'd go in the neighborhood, hairdresser, grocery etc," Tom explained.

"She may be dead." Jim said.

The three detectives and the Lieutenant exchanged looks. "Well let's hope not," Fisk said ending the discussion. Tom and Marty headed out.

There were thirty or so pieces of mail. Jim had opened about half and stapled envelopes to the corners. Karen scanned them while she slurped from a big Styrofoam cup. Hopefully one of these bills would give them the identity of the man who had beaten his son and left him for dead. Right now all they had was two children saying it was "Poppa". The landlord had shown Karen a scrawled signature on a lease that could have been Smith but could just as easily have been Wilson or anything.

"There's mail here for a Thomas Wilson, a Wilson Thomas, a William Channing and a Channing Wilson. Also one for a Mr. Smith. Who's to know which is the guy we're looking for?"

Jim was deep in thought. What would a man need so many aliases for? "Anything that might help us find him?

"Utilities so far, Bingo! insurance – car,"

Jim was already moving to his computer. "Give me the license number. I'll get a vehicle description."

Karen read him the numbers from the insurance bill and Jim typed them into the DMV data base. While it processed Karen finished opening the mail and looked over Jim's shoulder. "Hey, Jim, this says the DMV data base is down."

Jim pulled the earphone from his ear, "Like a pop up says it's down?"

"Yep. The screen is frozen but for the pop up."

Jim tossed the earphone onto his desk and sighed. "Damn program, it doesn't alert me when there are pop ups."

Just then the phone rang. "Dunbar… aha… thanks… No, that's good."

"Karen?" Jim replaced the phone and turned to his partner.

"Yep." Karen stopped slurping her soda for a moment.

"That was Tom. Met up with one of the neighbors at the grocery store, and she says the father was back."

Karen threw the huge cup toward the bin. It missed and ice rattled to the floor. Her voice was muffled by the desks as she leaned over to pick it up. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Doors still locked, tape intact, doesn't look like anyone's been in." Karen reported as they pulled up outside the house.

"Could be a false alarm. Let's check."

Karen unlocked the front door and they stepped in. "Careful." In the weak morning light, it looked even more grimy and decrepit than before.

"I remember. Stuck doors." Jim grinned and followed her into the hallway.

"Other than CSU poo nothing's changed since we were here." She turned around to watch her partner's face. Her tongue poked out and pressed itself to the centre of her top lip, as she held back a giant smile.

"CSU poo?"

Karen was quite happy with his expression, part way between bewildered and disgusted, but she wanted more. She held her face as neutral as possible, knowing he was getting very good at hearing smiles.

"You know, the stuff they leave behind, tape where the body was, pencil marks on the wall, fingerprint dust, you know, CSU poo." She had to stuff her hand in her mouth as soon as she finished, trying to hold in the laugh that threatened to escape.

"Must be a new saying, 'cause…" Jim was at a loss for words, trying to reconcile such a puerile and childish term with the NYPD detective in front of him – and NYPD detectives in general for that matter. Mind you, they were promoting them young these days.

She burst into laughter in front of him. He sighed melodramatically and shook his head sadly, but his small smile was not quite hidden and Karen did a little dance, happy that her prank had worked.

"You done? Shall we go upstairs and do some police work, sweetie, or you wanna go play in the yard?" Jim's sarcasm was gentle.

She caught her breath. "I'm done."

"Good, give me your arm." He took a firm grip on the elbow she pushed into his waiting hand. He could feel the trembles of suppressed laughter still echoing. Perhaps his calm would help her over whatever was going on with his partner.

Karen made an effort and led Jim to the first room but the sight of a wad of scrunched up yellow delineation tape in the corner threatened to set her off again. Suppressing her giggles made her arm jiggle in his hand and he gave in with a small laugh. Sometimes the cases held so much tension, and this was her way of releasing it.

"Let's check up stairs." Jim moved out of the doorway and released her arm.

Karen looked up at the rickety stairs. She drew breath to warm him.

"I know, I know, watch the stairs." He teased. "We'll be careful."

He started up ahead of her, Hank leading, and Jim taking the stairs two at a time. Karen smiled and shook her head; that was Jim being careful?

At the landing, Jim stopped. He held up his hand and Karen noticed that Hank's ears were pulled back. Tension radiated from Jim's back, she felt an answering stiffening of her own, her muscles responding to his signals of their own accord.

Karen pulled her gun and stepped up next to Jim. There was barely room for her and Jim and the dog on the landing. She risked a double look, yes Hank had dropped low, and somehow even his claws were silent on the bare boards. A half open door obscured any view of the room in front of them.

Behind the scarred door, a man cursed. There was a thump and another curse. Jim pulled his radio and Karen steadied her gun. Jim hesitated, whoever was there was close enough they might hear the radio. It would be better not to alert them until they were ready. But Karen would have to make the call on whether they went forward or back, Jim waited for her signal.

Heart beating in her ears, Karen reached up for Jim's arm and tugged to indicate he should continue forward. Inside the room, the cursing and banging continued. Hank trembled in his harness, predator stalking prey.

Karen applied slow pressure to Jim's shoulder to move him out of the direct line of sight of the doorway. He stepped silently back to the wall. She put her mouth to his ear. "Defensive entry." He nodded. Holding tight to Hank's harness, adrenaline coursing his veins, ready to do what his partner needed, Jim waited, listening.

"Three, Two …" she whispered them down, then shouted, "Police, put your hands- Ahh".

A 9 mm fired.

"Shots fired 33 Wilmington-" Jim began but Karen slammed back against him as he spoke into the radio and his breath was knocked momentarily from his lungs. Karen rolled off to his right, knocking the radio from his hand and hitting the wall beside him. "I'm okay." She managed to get the words out despite being winded.

Turning back to the door, Jim caught her breathless words, "I'm okay" but nothing else as a huge body barreled through the door and straight into him. Jim landed heavily on his back over the top stair.

He grappled for a hold, partly to prevent the man from leaving, partly to stop from sliding down the stairwell. The man stumbled over Jim's leg and landed on all fours. Something flew from the assailant's hands and banged its way down the staircase. The detective grabbed an arm and hung on as the man shook it, trying to flee. Jim was raised off the ground and struggled to get his legs under him while maintaining his grip.

The assailant pulled his free arm away and drove it into Jim's face. The left lens of his glasses cracked loudly, and the sharp edge sliced his cheek as the fist that came back again. Jim's nose exploded in pain as the sharp bone snapped in two and each part went its different ways. There was no time for tears to spring to his eyes or thoughts to run through his head.

Jim's head snapped back and he finally realized what had hit him like a telephone pole through the windshield. He lost his grip and fell backward toward the open mouth of the stairwell, bruising his back on the top step. His arms were raised to protect himself from the second blow that would send him over the edge.

Somewhere in the confusion Karen called out. "_Freeze or I'll shoot_." But no shot was fired.

Karen watched as the man from the family photo swung his fist at Jim's face, but his roar of triumph turned to fear as Hank caught up with the attacking man.

With his arm raised to deal the final blow and send the detective over the edge of the stairwell, the angry man didn't see the sixty pound German Sheppard as he slammed into his body. The third blow never landed. Instead a scream assaulted Jim's eardrums. Teeth bared and snarling, Hank grabbed the raised fist in his jaw and crunched down. As the hand went slack, he snapped his head down and found the vulnerable forearm. He slashed. Blood spurted into his eyes, but his aim was true as he pushed further and found flesh.

Hank bit and tore, shook his head to rid his eyes of the blood and bit again, changing position faster than Karen could follow.

Freed of his attacker, and finally grasping what had happened, Jim called out to his dog, "Hank, down."

Hank released the man, stepped back, and sank to the floor. He drooled deep red and held himself proudly. The man moaned in pain and fear.

Jim didn't dare to move, it seemed he teetered on the edge of a precipice and nothing was certain anymore. Hank's loud pant placed him on the other side of the perp. Carefully Jim reached out, seeking the wall or the banister, hoping not to overbalance and send himself careening down the stairwell.

Karen's voice held the authority of her badge and more, an anger that suggested she sought an excuse to fire her weapon. "Move an inch and I'll kill you."

She wanted to get to her partner, but the perp lay on the floor between her and Jim. She reigned in the urge to kick the man where he lay. He was covered in blood, but the eyes that glared at her were blue and the hair above them red and curly, just like the children. They had their perp.

A foot or so beyond him, Jim lay on his back, frozen in the act of sliding head first on his back down the stairs. He trembled, his chest rising and falling with every breath he pulled through his mouth. His eyes were closed tight against the blood that was running downhill from his nose, across his lids and forehead to his hair.

She suddenly realized he was waiting for her cue. "Jim, slide toward me, the banister will be to your right." Jim followed the instructions and found the banister. Griping it firmly he rolled. The blood that had pooled on his face spattered to the first step and he shook his head slightly. He came first to his knees and then to his feet. Fresh blood streamed from his nose, down his cheeks and spattered on the floor. He ran his fingers over his glasses, took them off and slid them into his pocket. He clamped down hard onto his nose and pressed. The crunch as the bones slid into place was a familiar one, an old break just renewed.

Hank stood, claws clacking on the floor, harness jingling, wanting to go to his master. "No, Hank." Jim held his hand palm up in Hank's direction. "Stay."

"It's him. Bradley's father. Can you cuff him?" Karen was shaken by what she had just seen, she didn't trust this man not to try and grab her if she got closer. She held eye contact like concrete and every word to the perp nailed him to the floor. "I have a clear shot to your head, so don't even twitch."

The rasping pant of pain gave Jim the man's position on the floor. He pulled his cuffs from behind his coat and secured the man face down with his hands behind his back. Jim's fingers slid on blood. Detective blood, Jim hoped vainly, not blood that Hank had drawn.

Once the man was cuffed, Karen stepped over him, and grabbed the radio from where it had fallen. "We need a bus to 33 Willmington, and where's that patrol car?" Karen sounded angry. Jim could hear the operator on the other end. "You only called 90 seconds ago. It's on its way.

_90 seconds?_ She thought, _that was all? _She went to Jim, taking his arm in her hand. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Jim held tight to his nose, effectively stopping the bleeding. "You?"

"Little bump on the head, nothing to worry about."

"The guy… what'd Hank do?"

"I can't tell. There's lots of blood."

"Karen you gotta check the perp's not bleeding too badly, this could be really bad for Hank." Jim was clearly worried. "Please."

The guy was moaning on the ground. She checked his neck which was covered in blood and found several wounds. All were bleeding but not badly enough to account for the volume of blood on the floor.

"My arm, he tore up my arm." The man was almost crying.

"You stay still while I check." She warned and then knelt to look at his cuffed arm. The gash was deep, and blood seeped alarmingly fast.

"Jim, your tie, I need it."

Jim stripped off his tie.

She made a tourniquet and the bleeding slowed.

"Karen?"

"A bad gash on his arm but it's stopped now. He'll be okay." She finally looked at Jim and Hank. Hank's face was red from his snout through to his ears. He looked like he was grinning and his teeth were red. "Shit, we gotta clean Hank before someone sees him."

"You sure this guy's alright?"

"This abusing murdering scum?" Karen asked incredulously.

"The man Hank attacked." Jim corrected.

"Yeah, he's fine." She kicked him on her way over. "Believe me, we gotta get the blood offa Hank before someone sees."

"I'll mind the perp." Jim unbuckled Hank's harness, took up his lead and held them out to Karen. She took them both. Then he moved over and knelt by the guy. He found his pulse and nodded. "Go, do what you can. Then put him in the car."

Jim stayed on alert. Soon the guy on the floor roused. "Your fucking police dog tried to kill me. I'm going have you. I'm gonna have him." Jim kept his hand on the man's back, making sure he didn't try to rise. Karen was okay. He was okay. Hank was alive. But this was not good. This was definitely not good.

Karen got down the stairs as fast as she could. In the bathroom she ordered Hank into the bath and turned the shower head on him. His ears drooped and he looked miserable but he sat and took it. "You did good, Hank." She stroked his head in the red bubbling stream until it ran clear. Still wet, she put him in the car, "Hop in there, hero. Keep out of sight."

A moment after she stepped through the dodgy door in the front of the apartment building, the patrol car pulled up with the ambulance just behind it. She went to the window and spoke to the driver. "Up here, he's got contusions and severe bleeding. I tourniqued one at his wrist." The men pulled a stretcher from the back and started up the stairs. "Be careful, the stairs are rotting."

The patrolman stepped up. "You got someone for us?"

"Ah, same guy I'm afraid. He attacked us and got hurt." She felt her words stumbling over one another. She had never been any good at covering up.

The two men followed her up the stairs. Jim stood a little to the right, hand on the banister while the medics checked the suspect.

"Good tourniquet, Detective. This is a bad gash. We need to get him out of here quickly, can you release the cuffs?"

"I can, but you sure you can handle him? He was pretty violent?"

"He's too weak now I'd say but maybe one of you guys can come with us?" The other medic indicated the uniformed men standing behind her. They were looking at the scene wondering where all the blood had come from.

"None of this is from gunshot?"

"No." Jim spoke up and the men looked at him, taking in the blood on his face and clothes. They exchanged silent looks and their mouths set in a hard line. Anyone who would do that to a Detective would not be handled gently. Karen walked around the medics, squeezing past them on the small landing and went to Jim's side.

The taller of the uniformed officers took charge, "I'll go in the bus. Dave, you bring the car and get me?"

"Yeah." Officer Dave Bibwell turned to Karen and Jim. "He just a suspect or is he being arrested?"

"He'll be booked for two counts of assaulting a police officer, several counts of domestic assault, and attempted murder." Jim issued the list like a sentence. "Make sure he's guarded at the hospital. We'll be round there later."

The medics hauled the guy down the stairs and the officers followed.

As their footsteps disappeared out of the house, Jim turned to Karen. "Hank?"

"Washed and dripping in my car. You owe me for a car detailing."

Jim smiled in relief. "This can't be hidden. We gotta get to the boss fast."

"Shall we go now?"

"Let's just check the room first, see what he was looking for."

Inside they found the guy had pulled up several sections of floorboard and a pile of cash was gathered in the centre of the room. Karen snapped off a round of photographs, then Jim held an evidence bag and Karen loaded the money. "What size notes?"

"Twenties, fifties, hundreds. It's a lot of money."

"We need to get it counted, find out where the guy got it."

They headed back to the car, locking the place carefully on the way out. Karen dropped Jim off at the morgue and met with CSU, who picked up the money and started to trace its origin.

Jim was pretty quiet as Jenny patched him up. Hank sat patiently under the hand drier next to her sink, getting a blow dry.

Jim and Karen headed straight for the Boss's office. He was silent while they reported on the case.

"Good job." Fisk looked from a white faced Karen to a nervous Jim. He waited silently.

Jim cleared his throat. "The arrest itself isn't completely… without incident. It is likely the scumbag will be asking to press charges against me."

"Go on." Fisk said. He looked at Jim's hands, but there was no indication he had hit anyone recently. His nose was quite swollen and he'd have serious black eyes within a couple of hours, there was a butterfly clip on his cheek. Fisk toyed with the idea that Jim head butted the guy and missed, but…

"Hank attacked the guy." Jim's head dropped and then came back up. For about the millionth time, it grated on Fisk that he couldn't make eye contact with this detective.

"I see." Fisk glanced beside Jim but the dog must have been back at his desk, in his usual spot.

"Did he cause serious injury?"

"I don't know?" Jim turned to Karen. "You saw it go down. How about you describe it?"

Karen looked to Fisk and got a nod. "The guy came out of the door when I called out a warning. He hit me and pushed me aside, then he attacked Jim. He tried to push him down the stairs, he punched him in the face, broke his glasses and his nose…"

Fisk looked back from Jim to Karen and raised his eyebrows. "After he'd hit Jim repeatedly, Hank jumped on him and grabbed his arm in his teeth. As soon as the guy stopped hitting Jim, Jim called out to Hank and he moved away and sat down."

"I put a tourniquet on the guy and the EMS took him away."

"That how it went down for you Jim?"

"Yes. I think so."

Fisk was quiet for a while. Then he said, "I thought guide dogs were chosen because they would never attack?"

"So did I." Jim shrugged, clearly worried. "Boss, I-"

"No. Don't say any more. I'll get some legal advice. Is Hank here?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Keep him here. Get your paper work done as fast as you can."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Jim, Karen." Fisk stepped back into his office and waited.

"There's a woman in there. No uniform." Karen whispered to Jim on the way.

"Assistant DA Denk, who will be taking the case against Smith."

Karen stepped forward and shook the woman's hand. "Detective Karen Bettancourt."

As Karen stepped back Jim held his hand out, "Detective Jim Dunbar."

The ADA got straight to the point, "Detectives, I know you want attempted murder but we're going to go for aggravated assault of the son."

"But that's what? Ten years?" Karen blurted out.

"He'd be out in seven or eight," Jim added. "Why not attempted murder?"

"And why're you dropping the assault on us?" Karen demanded.

"The hospital thinks the child's going to make it, and your perp's going to plead not guilty." She held up her hand at Karen's outrage. "The father says the boy came at him with a knife and had hurt one of the kids."

"What? The father beat the kid regularly. This is total fantasy, the kids weren't even downstairs!"

"According to who, Detective Dunbar? A three-year-old girl? Who's more likely to tell the jury what her father wants her to say than what you want her to say?"

"It's not what I want her to say, it's what she told us!" Jim's voice was growing loud.

"Please, calm down, Detective." The ADA looked Jim over, took in the black eyes and bandage over his nose, and covered a sneer. "You know how these things work."

Jim clenched his jaw, he spoke slowly, "What do I need to bring you to get him put away long enough for these kids to grow up?"

"Murder, the kid needs to die or you need to find this dead wife you mentioned. For attempted murder, you need to find physical evidence of repeated past assaults."

"You want the kid to die? You cold hearted bitch." Spittle flew from Jim's mouth and his snarl reminded Karen of Hank just a few hours earlier.

"Dunbar, back off." Fisk could understand Jim's upset but the fact was they needed the ADA on side.

"Boss," Jim turned to the Lieutenant, "we're finding evidence that he has several families and has been milking the system for support payments, perhaps up to eight grand a month." Jim turned back toward the ADA. "Will that help?"

"Maybe, but the other matter, which I want to hear nothing about- the DA spoke up loudly to cover Jim's interruption.

Karen put her hand on his arm and he closed his mouth with a snap.

The ADA smiled her thanks at Karen and continued "As I was saying, the other matter will work against you. His injuries far outweigh yours. I believe his lawyer will go to the press with it and it will already make this a very hard case to try."

Jim turned away, barely containing his anger. "We'll find more, if he's done this once he's done it before, we'll find the evidence."

"Good, but you don't have much time. Get the other issue handled quietly and fast. It's a case killer." The ADA stalked out, nodding once at Karen, once at Fisk and sneering at Jim. Jim wasn't doing good on making new friends today.

Fisk returned to his desk and motioned for the detectives to sit. Karen landed in her chair with a thump and pushed the other chair over to Jim.

"Now, about Hank. As you just heard, Wilson put in an official complaint."

Jim's shoulder's sagged. He reached out for the chair in front of him and sat suddenly feeling all his aches from the day before.

"He was only defending us, Boss." Karen jumped to Hank's defense.

"I believe you. But the hospital says the wounds are serious, the guy had to have surgery on his hand and his arm. And you know what it could do to the case."

Jim brought his hand up to his head. "What does he want?"

"He's demanding Hank be put down."

The color ran from Jim's face. He blinked, swallowed, turned away. "I couldn't let that happen, Boss."

"I need to know something, Jim. If you lose Hank, can you still work?"

Jim hesitated before speaking, "Yes, I can get another dog," he spread his hands, "but there's a waiting list and there's training time together. Until then…"

Karen watched helpless as her partner digested the possibility. "Boss, I'd step up, we'd manage somehow."

"He may not win, right? Especially if Wilson's convicted."

"They're probably not connected, Jim. But I may have found another alternative."

Jim's head came up. "Yes?"

"Bring Hank in here. There's someone you need to meet." Fisk opened the other door of his office and called out. "Captain?"

Jim went to the door and called out, "Hank. Come." Hank trotted over and Jim motioned him in.

"Jim, I'd like you to meet Captain Phillips, of NYPD K9 unit. This is Detective Dunbar."

"Captain." Jim held out his hand and the other man gave him a firm handshake.

"This is Detective Karen Bettancourt, Jim's partner."

Karen stood from her chair by the files and stepped up to shake the senior officer's hand.

"Captain Phillips is the commander of the K9 unit at NYPD and also carries out all defenses of these dogs when they are accused of injuring the public. He has agreed to take a look at Hank and if appropriate, help us."

Captain Phillips was from Boston, his New England accent still clear, "May I have permission to observe and instruct your dog, Detective?"

"Sure."

"Thank you."

"Hank. Come." Hank looked at Jim.

"Go." Jim motioned him forward and Hank trotted up to Captain Phillips.

"Sit." Hank Sat. "Drop." Hank dropped. Captain Phillips ran him through several basic commands. Hank obeyed every command.

"He healthy?" The captain asked.

"Yes."

Captain Phillips had Karen give a moment by moment description of what she saw Hank do. He clarified exactly when Hank attacked, when he stopped. "So Hank did not attack until after the perp. hit Detective Dunbar?"

"That's right."

"He did not attack after you had been hit?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. In order to get him out of this safely we need two things. 1. His actions need to be justified, rather like a righteous shooting. I have been to the scene and I took it upon myself to pick up a few pieces of evidence. They have been logged." He held up a piece of floorboard with a long nail driven into it. "Do you recognize this?"

"It's one of the floorboards the perp ripped up at the scene." Karen answered.

"And this?"

"Yes, that's another one."

"Thank you." Captain Phillips walked around with the board in his hand, rather like a lawyer at trial presenting to a jury. "Jim, take this, check it out." He put the board in its evidence bag in Jim's hands and gave him a moment to identify it. "I found this one in the room and this one at the bottom of the stairs. Did either of you wield this as a weapon?"

"No," they answered together.

"In your report, you mention the accused came out of the room with something in his hand, but you do not mention it again. Could it have been this? Could this have fallen down the stairs?"

"Yes," Karen answered, "that would be it. It was only in his hand for a moment and I didn't see where it went but it could have fallen down the stairs."

"There is blood on the end of the nail, some of which I believe belongs to the perp. The nail protrudes approximately 2 inches from the board. The teeth of the average police dog are approximately 1 to 2 inches long."

"It is entirely possible the accusing alleged victim had already attained some wounds from this nail and other nails which were hastily removed by him." The Captain sounded smug already. Jim listened intently.

"I will be going from here to ask the medics who treated him at the scene if these could have been the cause of his wounds. I will also be asking the same of the attending physician."

"I am confident they will agree the nails could well have inflicted the damage the perp is saying was inflicted by the K9 officer." Captain Phillips sounded smug. "Detective Dunbar, did you sustain any wounds during the arrest of the perp?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Please detail your injuries? "

"Broken nose," Jim shrugged, "other than that some bruising."

"I'll need to take a look."

"Now?" Jim asked, surprised.

"Yes please, I need to know what I have to work with." He walked over to Jim. "Detective Bettancourt, do you have a Polaroid?"

While she was getting it, Captain Phillips had Jim stand and strip to the waist. He inspected him like he would inspect an injured dog. He found several bruises on each shoulder, and a new bruise coming up just under his ribs.

Jim looked embarrassed. "These are not all from today, Captain. I…"

"I understand, Jim. I'm just looking for today's. Any more? What about when you hit the stairs with the first blow?"

Jim shrugged and turned around. The stripe across his back looked painful, red and raw, skin scraped off and running diagonally across his spine. "This is a good one." Phillips said it like a judge appraising an award winning piece of art.

Jim couldn't help finding that a pleasant change from the horror Karen usually tried to hide when she caught a glimpse of injuries on her partner. He wondered what expression the Boss had right now.

Karen walked in and closed the door. Her eyes grew wide seeing the strip across Jim's back. She handed Captain Phillips the camera and he took several shots. "Okay you can suit up."

"What about you, Detective?"

Karen was relieved to be able to say. "Just on the face." Several photographs later and Captain Phillips asked them to sit.

"I surmise that Wilson injured himself by accident trying to recover the cash under the floorboards. He conveniently blamed it on the K9 Officer so that it would mitigate his own assault on the two of you. In court I may need to stress that he attacked a female officer and a disabled one. Is that acceptable?" Captain Phillips watched their faces carefully.

"Whatever it takes to save Hank, I'm willing." Jim said.

Karen held Captain Phillips eye and nodded.

"In that case, I am confident I can convince a jury that Hank merely used sufficient force to detain the perp."

"You mentioned there were two factors?" Jim reminded him.

"Yes. The other is that he needs to have been an official K9 officer at the time of the detention of the perp."

Jim was silent, a frown remained on his face.

"What we have in mind, Detective, is giving Hank some additional training and assigning him an identity just like another canine officer. Not full training but some commands that enable you to use him if needed and so that he doesn't have to decide. "

"Hank is a Guide Dog, Captain, I'm not sure this would work."

"I know a bit about guide dogs."

Lieutenant Fisk spoke for the first time since introducing the man, "Captain Phillips ran the guide dog training at the Lighthouse from 99 to 03, then he oversaw the drug squad revamp before he joined the NYPD, Jim."

"As I am sure you know, Detective, guide dogs are selected for their non-aggressive behavior. Then selected further for obedience, trustworthiness and finally for the intelligence to disobey."

"Yes. Captain."

"I'd say Hank's actions today were selective disobedience taken to an extreme."

Jim kept silent. Truth was he hadn't told Hank _not_ to attack. "He did back off as soon as he was told to."

"That's good. I will need a complete written rundown on what happened today, but, if you agree, I think we can put some paperwork together to show that Hank has been in training as a police dog for some time. If you can spare the time immediately to undergo some training with him yourself, we should be able to have him officially endorsed before the accuser has time to file his suit."

Jim had more questions, "Aren't K9 officers owned by the department, Sir?"

"Yes, but, I run the K9 department here and I can make an unusual contract. You would own him and contract him to our department and we would assign him back to you."

Fisk sat in his chair. "So you confident you can pull this off, John?"

"Yes, Gary. The dog looks good for it. From what you tell me Detective Dunbar is trainable so as long as you can spare him. I'd say we can do it."

Jim was still cautious. "And a K9 officer is allowed to cause the injuries that Hank supposedly caused today?"

"Yes. He is allowed to be used as force in apprehending a suspect. And one who is in the process of assaulting two police officers on duty – he may well earn a medal."

"How much training time? I have a case to wrap up."

"I'll need you tomorrow for several hours, then one day a week for a while, and then we do refreshers regularly, every couple of months."

"Wow, it took a month for guide training."

"That's why this will be short. You two have been teamed, how long?"

"15 months."

Fisk was ready to wrap, they had a case to finish. "Jim, this is your choice. You need some time to think about it?"

"No, we're in. Whatever it takes to save Hank's hide. If you'll give me the time off, we're in."

"I'll get the paperwork started."

"Thank you. Thank you Captain." Jim held out his hand to shake.

"John." The Captain took it firmly. "If we're going to work together we need to be on a first name basis. And I think you might find this training very valuable. From what I've been hearing, you tend to be one of those detectives who get's into scrapes, so, I intend that this improves your effectiveness and extends your shelf life so to speak."

"Thanks, John." Fisk stood and shook hands with his friend.

"Glad I can help." He turned to Karen. "Are you Jim's permanent partner?"

"Yes." Karen looked surprised.

John nodded. "If everyone agrees, you'll need to attend the training also. It may often be like a team of three so Hank needs to be used to that."

"Yes, Sir."

John smiled. "John. See you soon then."

He stopped by Hank on his way out the door. "See you for training, Hank."

The door closed. "Wow," Karen exclaimed. "From death row to Officer Hank."

Jim still looked a little worried. "There's some paperwork to be done, and we might still have fight on our hands right?"

Fisk smiled. "Yes, Jim. But with John Phillips on your side, you've got a very strong ally. I'd say we can err on the side of optimism for now."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The first round of police dog training had been interesting. Karen had been impressed with what Hank could understand. It was well into the afternoon when Jim followed Hank into the squad. Karen caught up with him and tucked a candy bar into his hand. "Babe Ruth?" he asked.

"Yeah. You getting coffee right?"

Jim nodded and sent Hank to his spot. He pulled his coat off slowly and grimaced. The training at the K9 centre had been quite physical and he always found bruises hurt more the day after. He dropped the candy bar on his desk and went to get coffee. Marty followed him, "Hey Jim, you see that perp yet?

"Yeah, went straight there after Hank's thing." Jim held out the pot. "You wanna toss that?"

Marty took the old coffee and poured it down the sink. He rinsed the glass out and handed it back to Jim who had readied filters and now counted scoops.

Marty leaned against the door and watched Jim. "The perp give you anything?"

"Nah, he's a prick. Fabricated this whole story about the child abusing his sister, and then just went on an on about Hank." Jim poured the water in and started the machine up.

"You get anything on the wife?" He leaned his shoulder against the lockers, mirroring Marty.

"Nope, I was hoping you'd get something outa your guy." Marty kicked the skirting board where it had started to come away from the wall.

"Says the woman's a bitch who ran out on him. Wouldn't even say when." Jim shook his head and leaned toward the other detective. "His lawyer was there, our uniform and nurses kept nosing in. It was a joke." The disgust was clear in his voice. There had been no way to motivate the man to give up anything.

"Well, if Hank hadn't messed him up, you'd have had him in an interview room where we could have asked some questions."

Jim didn't take the bait, "No Marty, if Hank hadn't messed him up, he'd be in the wind."

Jim went to the cupboard to find cups.

…

Karen settled into her chair and turned to Tom who scooted over to ask, "So, you get anything?"

She shook her head sadly. "This guy might well be the worst criminal I've ever seen. You know he hasn't even asked about his son's injuries? And he's saying the kid hurt his little sister."

"Coward." Tom was disgusted.

"Yeah, all tucked up in a hospital bed, gloating." Karen looked Tom in the eye for a long moment. "He laughed when he saw Jim. Like he was…" she sighed, unable to find the right words. "I'd like to get him in an interview room. Let Jim lean on him a little."

Tom knew what she meant. There was something about a partnership between detectives, you couldn't take an insult to your partner sitting down. She'd like the guy to see the dangerous side of Jim. It wasn't likely to happen right now though.

"You find any trace of the wife?" Karen asked as Marty and Jim appeared, coffees in hand.

"No, it's like she never existed," Tom said.

"Thanks." Karen took her steaming cup from Jim. "Jim, you think we might talk to the kids again?"

"Yeah, it's worth a shot." Jim sat heavily, laid his head back and closed his eyes. "The ADA says unless we find evidence of continual abuse or a body, he'll walk in seven or eight years and those kids will be in danger again."

"Find anything in the mail?" Marty asked as he put Tom's coffee down and stole the rest of the cookie sitting on the desk. Tom gave him a filthy look.

"Nah, it's weird, he's got like five aliases." Karen explained.

"People doing that, usually they're jumping houses with bills chasing them, but this guy, he's been in the same lease for six years, all his bills are paid up. Doesn't make sense." Jim added.

Jim looked like he was talking in his sleep. Marty sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes. He still wasn't used to it. "People farming. I had a case a few years back where a man had three defacto wives and seventeen kids. Kept them in poverty and collected all the social security benefits he could. Pulled in about eight grand a month doing that."

Karen put her head in her hands. "Just when you think you've seen the worst in this job, something like this one comes along."

Jim sat up, turned his head toward Marty, interested. "You tracked him through social security?"

"No, they're a nightmare to deal with. We found the houses he had set up and got it out of the women."

"Karen, let's trace those names for other residences and see what we find?"

"You thinking he might be doing that?"

"CSU didn't come up with any missing money that matched," Jim offered.

"Well, there were some letters discussing variations on social security. There are new babies apparently." Karen's surprise rang in her voice.

"We can do that while you talk to the kids again if you want?" Marty offered.

"Thanks, that'd be good." Coffee forgotten, Jim was lifting the phone to organize the kids.

Marty got onto tracking the names on the mail and soon he and Tom headed out looking for evidence of abuse or traces of the missing mother.

"I'm impressed you managed to get Child Services to care for the children in their own home." Jim praised Lola when she met them at the house. He removed his glasses and tucked them into a pocket, and the smile he gave her reached his eyes.

"Thank you, Detective." Lola blushed and avoided Karen's eye.

Jim, Karen, and Lola sat in the TV room with the children. Julie was curled up on Jim's lap showing him her doll, and Sophie was talking quietly with Karen about school. Sesame Street had Michael entranced, and Jim had suggested Lola give up trying to get him to talk. She now stood behind the couch listening and learning.

For the second time in ten minutes, Hank whined and stood up. "Settle down Hank." Jim was firm with him again. Then he cocked his head, it was unusual for Hank to be restless.

"What is it?" Karen asked him.

"Can you hear something?"

"No, but Hank's got his ears pricked." She noticed the children seemed frightened.

"Sophie? Do you know what that noise is?" Karen asked the girl who'd been telling her about her teacher just a few moments ago.

"No. I didn't hear anything." But her eyes spoke differently. Karen and Lola looked at each other over Jim's head.

"I'll stay with the children." Lola offered and put her hand on Jim's shoulder.

"We better check it out." Jim said. He transferred the small girl to the couch and stood.

"Thanks. Julie, you sit with Lola for a while. We'll be back."

Jim turned toward Hank, "What you hearing, boy? Go find it."

Hank looked first at Jim, then to the door. He stepped forward.

Karen followed Jim and Hank as they wound through the grimy house, up the stairs, and to a door off the landing. The stairs continued on up, but Hank stopped outside the closed door. He scratched with a paw. Jim reached out and put his ear to the door. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

Karen stepped up close and pulled her weapon from its holster. "Here, let me."

Hank was eager to get into the room. The door opened grudgingly, snagging on the carpet that gathered under it. Jim had to hold Hank back, front feet off the floor, as he tried to bolt in. Not wanting to make a sound until they knew the room was clear, Jim held off on correcting him.

Gun first, Karen slid through the space and into the room. "Clear," she reported to Jim, and brought her gun back down, holstering it with a click. There was a sash window on the north side and opposite a closet. A wicker basket, checked tea towel, and an empty wine bottle lay discarded on the dirty green carpet, the floorboards could be seen through in several places. Hank's claws clicked on it as he tried to wrest control back from Jim. It was almost as if Hank had forgotten Jim was relying on him. Jim bent down and put his face close to the dog's. "Take it easy, Hank," he said firmly. He allowed Hank's front paws to hit the floor and held firmly to the grip while Hank led him in.

Karen followed Jim and Hank to the closet door where Hank plastered his nose to the crack at the bottom, his breath making loud noises along the crack. Jim put his ear to the door and then explored it with his hand.

"Closet," Karen said.

Jim cocked his head. "I still can't hear anything. You?"

"No, but Hank's looking frantic. Let's take this defensive." Karen kept her voice very low.

Jim nodded, tugged Hank and took a step back and behind Karen who took position next to the door, up against the wall.

With her gun held ready in her right hand, Karen pulled the door open. Hank whined and pulled at his harness again. Jim held him in place while Karen searched.

"Nothing, a few clothes hanging, a pair of gross shoes." She knelt in front of Hank. "There's not even a cat in here, Hank. You playing practical jokes? 'Cause it's not April Fool's Day."

Jim shook his head. "Karen, Hank's not interested in cats. There's got to be something here for him to be like this. Let me look." He dropped the harness and stepped forward. Karen guided his hand to the side of the closet and he reached up for the top. A shelf ran along the top, he pulled a golf club down and ran his fingers along it. He handed it to Karen.

"Golf club. It's got blood on it. So Hank's finding evidence now?" The confusion showed in her voice.

"No, there's got to be something more." Jim squatted and felt the raised floor of the closet. He lifted his hand and rubbed his fingers. "No dust down here, that doesn't make sense." He felt along the back wall. "Wait, this is a false wall, this closet isn't deep enough to hold that golf club." He pushed the few clothes aside and tapped on the back wall. "Hollow. There's something back here."

As Jim was looking for a way through the wall, Hank muscled his way past and began scratching at the back wall of the closet, whining. "Hang on boy, nearly there." Jim stepped out and made Hank sit at heel. "There's hinges on the right, but I can't find a latch. If you can't see one, we'll have to force it."

Karen squeezed, pulling clothes and hangers off the rail and passing them to Jim, who tossed them far from the door. It was dark in the closet and she worked as much by touch as sight, checking the edges and finally spotting a small indented ring. "Got it." She tugged and the back wall of the closet swung back silently.

Karen stepped back and Hank pushed through the closet dragging Jim with him. "What the -?" Hank had never acted like this, forcing Jim forward despite resistance.

Karen followed Jim into a small hidden room and the door swung behind her. It clicked shut. Claustrophobia threatened to descend, her heartbeat sped up immediately and her breath caught in her throat.

"Shit. It's pitch bl–"

"Shh." Jim interrupted her.

She felt his hand on her arm. She took a deep breath.

Jim turned his head slowly, scanning the room. A thin whimper reached his ears, and this time when Hank tugged forward, Jim allowed the dog to lead. Hank stopped, and began licking something, making little comforting noises in his throat. Jim reached out with no idea what he would find. He followed Hank's body and head. His hands were tentative. What had Hank found? A baby, small, cold, shivering. And a woman, naked, prone, unmoving. "Karen, there's a baby and a woman in here."

Karen shuffled forward, arms outstretched, eyes as wide open as they would go.

Jim knelt and searched the woman's neck to find a pulse. Nothing, but the body was warm. He felt Karen's hand brush his shoulder. "Can you take the baby? The woman's not breathing but she's warm, maybe…"

"I can't see anything, Jim. It's not even murky in here."

"It's on my left. Hank's got his head next to it."

Karen followed the line of Jim's shoulders and stepped over, she trod on Hank's tail but he barely twitched, she found his head and the baby. "You gonna bring the mother out?"

"Yes."

Hank turned with Karen. She clutched the baby tight to her chest with one hand, held the other in front of her, and shuffled forward. She was grateful for Hank pressed against her leg and adjusted her step to his. Finally her hand met the door at the back of the closet. She breathed a sigh of relief as it moved easily under her hand. Somewhere had lurked a fear that it would have disappeared in the dark. As she stepped into the light, Jim called for Hank and he disappeared back into the dark recess.

The child in her arms had stopped whimpering and lay still, eyes closed, little chest moving up and down rapidly. Karen wondered how anyone could mistreat such a small baby. "Karen? I'm coming out." Jim called, bringing her back to herself.

Karen saw Hank's nose first as he pushed the door open and stopped at the small step from the closet to the floor. Jim found it with his boot and stepped into the room,

carrying the body of the mother in his arms. It was the woman from the photographs, the missing wife. Hank walked beside Jim, stewarding him just as he had done for Karen. The dog was calm now that the detectives had found the source of the crying.

"Put her on floor where you are Jim, there's no furniture so…"

Jim laid the woman on the floor. "Call a bus, Karen, maybe we can get her back."

Jim cleared the woman's airway and began CPR. The chest rose and fell, Karen stood with the child in her arms, somehow removed from the horror until the woman on the ground spluttered and Jim sat back on his heels. "Got her."

But she lay still as death, Karen couldn't see any rise in her chest and her color was bad. "Here, hold this."

Jim sat on the floor next to the woman. Karen placed the baby carefully in his arms and knelt by the woman. There _was_ a faint pulse, and although the movement of her chest was minimal, she did seem to be breathing on her own. Karen looked over the rest of her body. She had a dirty summer dress that was torn down the blouse, and her ribs were clearly discernable. Her left arm lay at a strange angle and her left leg was broken; a blue black bulge mid calf indicated an offset bone and massive bruising. The woman was also covered in what looked like old blood from her waist down. Her hair was pale and wispy. Her closed eyes were blue black from her brows down to her cheeks and her right cheek swollen with infection. Tear marks lined her face, the tracks showing pale freckled skin under the grime. She looked like a week old corpse.

As if alerted by the sight, Karen finally noticed the reek coming from the hidden recess and from the woman. She threw herself away from the mother and retched, coming up empty but for some bile and spittle.

"…no, she's not stable. Okay…good." Jim finished his radio call.

"Making room for lunch?" Jim gave Karen a gentle smile and held out a handkerchief.

Karen didn't deign to answer Jim's dig as she snatched the soft folded square from his outstretched hand. Her eyes watered and her hands shook a little as she held them against her strained stomach. She was glad her stomach had been empty though. There were enough disgusting smells in here without her adding her signature. Opening the window brought in fresh car fumes and l'eau de bird shit from the window sill. Weak sunlight filtered in, ran across the floor, and played over Jim and the others.

Karen shook her head, blinked her eyes. Sitting with the green carpet, the wicker basket and checked tea towel Karen couldn't help but think of a family picnic. They made a surreal tableau, mother dozing on a rug in the grass, a father sitting beside her, one hand holding hers while his other held their child. The family pet with his head on the father's knee.

Karen stepped in front of the beam of sunshine that played tricks for her eyes. It was Jim, a dying woman, and an abused newborn, she reminded herself, and this was a cheap apartment in New York, not a grassy knoll in Central Park.

Karen watched while Jim's hand explored under his coat where he had tucked the small baby. "It's warming up," he said. By the look on his face, she wondered why he had never had kids. She almost smiled, for a tough guy, it was a pretty good instinct to warm the kid up like that. She had been surprised at how good he was with kids. With adults he was often impatient, seemingly harsh at times, but as soon as a kid showed up, Jim … relaxed… got softer somehow. Her partner was a paradox, in this as well as so many other ways.

She forgave him for the joke. "She, it's a she."

"The baby?" Jim gave a grim smile of thanks. "What are the mother's injuries?" Jim's voice was low, other than that, there was no sign on his face or in his tone to indicate he was affected by what they had found.

"Um, broken left leg, her left shoulder must be out and there's an infected cut on her cheek." She noticed Jim had picked up the woman's wrist in his hand as soon as he had finished the radio call, keeping track of her pulse she assumed. Karen swallowed and continued. "It's possible she gave birth in there, she's still bloody from the waist down and the baby's not been cleaned up."

Jim frowned. He released the woman's wrist and felt under his coat. "The umbilical's been tied. I wonder if she could have done it. Otherwise someone was there who left them after the birth."

Hank settled down and rested his head on Jim's leg. Karen wondered if a photo for the magistrate would help. She pulled her camera out and began snapping. "Do you think Hank finding these two will help his case?" Karen's voice was a little unsteady.

Jim's brow furrowed as her considered. "I don't see why not. Especially if it's the guy's wife and child."

Karen finished taking snapshots. She sank to the dirty floor and leaned against Jim's back. He cocked his head, picking up the ambulance siren in the distance. "You okay?"

"For now."

Jim nodded. This was Karen's way of saying she'd hold but needed to talk later. Jim understood; he was barely holding the horror away himself. He cradled the child, held the mother's wrist, and kept images of skeletal babies and dying women at bay.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"You got your DOA, the issue with the dog is gone, and you _still _say you can't get him on murder?" The walls of the Lieutenant's office weren't sufficient to contain Jim's voice.

"He didn't actually kill the baby, Detective." ADA Denk's voice was mild.

Jim stormed out. He turned sharply at the gate to the squad, fumbled to open it and walked to the vending machine which he thumped before he began to pace. An officer who had been headed to it for a candy bar took one look at his face and changed her mind. Her diet was looking real good right now.

Back in the office, Karen watched the boss tackle and subdue his own anger.

Denk didn't notice the effort he made on her behalf. "You going to follow him?" the prosecuting attorney asked Karen, with a sneer.

Karen took a long breath and stared down the ADA. When the woman looked away Karen turned back to Lieutenant Fisk.

"Boss, we _know_ this guy did it. His prints are at the scene-"

"He lives there," the ADA countered, interrupting Karen.

"Whose side are you on?" Karen couldn't stop her own voice climbing.

The ADA just looked at her, head tilted and a smile behind her cold eyes.

Karen wrestled control of her voice back, "The children will testify."

The ADA was shaking her head. "You _say_ the three-year-old and another child under ten will, but they refused to talk to us, let alone a jury. And even your partner admits the middle child refuses to say anything."

"We asked you _not_ to talk to them, yet. We told you they were vulnerable and easily scared!" Karen lashed back.

"Okay, enough. Karen, go find Jim, and go to the hospital. You have to get the wife to drop this 5th amendment crap and speak against her husband."

"Even then…" The ADA shook her head.

Fisk had had enough. "I'm calling the DA myself. If we get her to talk, you get this man for murder."

"You calm enough to do this?" Karen asked Jim. "Because…"

He nodded, "I know, I know…" He sat Hank by the wall and took Karen's arm. "You take the lead."

She pushed open the door and they stepped in. "Mrs. Wilson?" she asked quietly.

The woman in the bed was facing away from the door, she didn't turn her head or indicate in any way that she had heard Karen.

"Mrs. Wilson, we need to talk to you." Karen led Jim around to the side near the window. Kathy Wilson's eyes stared ahead, still showing no recognition. Karen pulled a chair back for Jim and took the one closest to the woman's head. "Please, Mrs. Wilson."

The woman closed her eyes and tears leaked out.

Jim shook his head, small shakes, several of them, before he reached out and touched the bed. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what it feels like to lose a baby, and you have every right to grieve for her." Jim's voice was steady and it amazed Karen that he showed so little emotion today when he had been so tender holding the baby in his arms only hours ago. When Jim had called the hospital for an update, Karen had seen the disappointment in his face as he carefully lowered the phone, before he covered his reaction and gave her the news that the little girl had died quietly in her sleep the first night she was in the hospital. She wondered if it would be easier on the woman in front of them if she knew how he felt. "What happened is unbearable."

"But you have three living children who need you _now_. Sophie is trying to do your job, to be a mother to the little ones. Michael hasn't spoken a word since this happened, and Bradley…" Jim's voice gave out on him. Karen could see him blinking rapidly behind his glasses. He cleared his throat and began again, "It's unbearable that he should have to face the next months without you. Struggling to stay out of a wheelchair, struggling with the darkness…"

Tears streamed freely down the mother's face now and she looked from the window to Jim. "But…" she mouthed the words but only a sob escaped and she turned her face away.

Jim reached for her hand and found it on the bed. "We've done all we can, the doctors have done all they can. Right now, with the evidence we have, the lawyers say your husband will be out of jail in seven to nine years, which would see Julie about Bradley's age. Will he come back and do to Julie what he did to Bradley. Or will he just kill her outright? What your children need from you right now, is for you to help us put him away for life, so he can never do what he did again."

The woman sobbed loudly, her eyes pleaded with Karen, as she nodded.

"You'll testify?" Karen asked.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me now, what happened?" Jim asked and then he listened, his eyes hidden behind his dark lenses, his emotions behind his mask.

"So, you guys up for a game tonight?" Tom asked.

"Pool?" Jim asked, wincing at the thought of the one time he had agreed to go bowling.

"Yeah, I thought we could use some R&R after the week we've had."

"Karen?" Jim asked of his pool partner.

"Sure. I'd love it." Karen said, picking up the pile of mail on Jim's desk and adding it to her own. She pulled an interesting package from the bottom. "Hey, check this out." Karen held up a plaque for the guys to see.

Tom grinned at his scowling partner, "What, you jealous, Marty? You want one too?"

"Yeah, who do I need to bite to get it?" Marty looked at Hank who sat on his rug looking every bit the police officer. Marty glanced around, Tom was busy at his computer, Karen was reading mail and Jim, well, Jim wouldn't see it anyway. Marty stuck out his tongue at Hank and grinned when Hank's tongue lolled out and he appeared to be grinning.

"What is it?" Jim asked. "Is that the package from my mail?"

"Yep." She placed it in his waiting hand. "It says, Officer Hank, NYCD K9086 is officially commended for his valiant effort in apprehending a criminal. It's got a date and looks all official."

Jim chuckled and stood it up on the window sill behind Hank.

"'Ankie!" Julie's shrill voice rang through the squad and her feet pounded the floor. During the trial, the two had formed a special bond. Jim smiled, unbuckled the harness and Hank shrugged out of it and ran to Julie.

On his way to his office, Lieutenant Fisk side-stepped 'Officer Hank' rolling on the floor, legs in the air, getting his belly scratched. "You moonlighting again, Dunbar? Childcare?"

"Ah, no, sorry Boss." Jim whistled and Hank trotted over, grinning three-year-old in tow.

Fisk smiled indulgently and closed the door to his office. Sometimes cases went like this, you got to see the results of your efforts in mended lives. Children's screams of delight were a soothing antidote to the general sounds of a homicide squad.

"Who's with you, Julie?" Jim asked as she climbed up on his lap and began smacking at his keyboard.

"Juice?" Julie offered, squeezing the box in her hand and red liquid squirted out onto Jim's face and down his shirt.

"Oh, Detective, I'm so sorry, she just got away from me at the front door and the officer in the elevator said he'd bring her up and, gosh, she really is only like this here, you know, she's normally so well behaved …" Kathy sounded out of breath as she came around the corner.

"It's okay, Kathy. It's just juice. Don't worry about it." Jim indicated the desk in front of him. "You need a seat?" he asked as he closed his laptop to save it from sticky hands and pushed his chair back, effectively cutting off access to anything else Julie would find irresistible on his desk.

Marty jumped up and pulled the chair out for the woman who clumsily got the crutches out from under her arms and angled herself into the chair gratefully. "Thank you, yes." Kathy smiled her thanks at Marty. Her left leg was still in plaster to her hip. She lowered herself into the chair with a sigh.

"Hey, Kathy, the ADA ask you for this meeting?" Karen asked, settling herself on the window sill behind Jim.

"Yes, she said I needed to hear what you were going to say and vice versa so we match or something."

"Mr. Jim, are these cookies for me?" Julie's eyes grew wide. Unbeknownst to Jim she'd pulled open his desk drawer and scattered the contents. Now she held a box of McDonald's cookies in her little hands and held them up in front of him.

"Didn't know they were coming, huh?" Karen asked Jim, patting him on the shoulder patronisingly.

The evidence was irrefutable; the blush began at his collar and went all the way to his hairline in seconds. "Well, really they're Hank's but he says you can have them, Julie." Jim ignored Karen completely.

"On the charge of murder in the first degree, the jury finds the defendant guilty."

The court expelled the waiting air it had held while the jury had deliberated. The tense stillness was replaced by reporters racing out to file their stories, and exclamations of "Thank God!" "I knew it." And "Finally!" came from the gallery of people who had followed the trial.

Jim and Karen stood, waiting for the confusion to cease before heading out. They wanted to avoid the press who would be waiting. "You can leave through the back if you'd like, Detectives," a court official offered. These two had picked up some celebrity with this trial and she knew they'd hated it.

"We'd appreciate that," Jim, picked up the harness and turned to his partner, "Karen?"

"Yeah, let's go."

As they walked through the back corridors, Tomas Wilson was being led past, in manacles, on his way to a life sentence.

"I'll get you, I'll -" Tomas spat at Jim and Karen as he moved toward them, straining on the restraints the guards held. Suddenly his face contorted in fear and he cowered back, looking to those same guards for protection. Hank looked the man in the eyes, a rumble in his throat growing to a snarl and saliva dripped to the floor.

"Don't let him near me, officers, he's vicious…" the man pleaded as he was dragged past Hank and off to serve his sentence.

"Did you give him the attack command?" Karen asked.

"No that new one we tried last week, you know…" Jim made a gesture with his hand that looked more like sign language than anything. Hank growled looking around for someone to aim his aggression at until Jim gave him a stop signal.

"He's good." Karen sounded impressed. "Can you show me that one again?" Jim complied, giving the signal so that Hank couldn't see it and Karen practiced it until she thought she had it right.

As they approached her parking spot, she spotted a couple of men lurking in a doorway opposite the car. Two burly men stepped out and onto the sidewalk ahead of them. Hank stopped and Karen put her hand on Jim's arm. Seeing Hank by Jim's side, the taller of the men grinned at her while his friend looked her up and down. "Hello little lady, how 'bout you dump this defective and come play with a real man?"

Karen gave Hank the signal Jim had just shown her. The attention of the creeps switched from her to the dog immediately. Hank looked at the two men, his upper lip rose, showing long canines and she felt as much as heard, the low growl that emanated from his chest. Jim dropped the harness to his back and Hank took a small step forward, lowering himself slightly. He snarled more loudly and the men put their hands in the air, "Hey, I didn't mean nothing, we're going, we're going." They backed up a few steps and ran.

Karen gave Hank the cease command and he stepped back, tail wagging. She giggled at Jim's raised eyebrows. "They were nothing, but I wanted to try… you know."

Jim grinned, picked up the grip and they continued walking. "Good job, Rookie, good job."

The End


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

A few weeks later

Kathy Wilson tucked Michael into bed and kissed him on the head. He turned away and cuddled his teddy bear. He still hardly spoke and Kathy worried about him. The counselor from Health Aid said it was normal for boys his age and brushed his mother's worries away with a brusque hand when she explained he'd been a chatty and outgoing child only a few weeks before. Before everything came to a head, before the baby had come early, before Tomas had hurt their son. Slowly she levered her heavy plastered leg up and hobbled back to the kitchen where she sipped a cold cup of tea. Things were better, undeniably so. There was food in the cupboard, there was money to buy clothes for the children and even the doctors were surprised at Bradley's recovery speed. They didn't think he'd regain full mobility but when her son took her hand today and said, _"Mom, it's just work. I'll be running again before you know it,"_ she believed him. She watched the sweat bead on his forehead and the triumph in his eyes as he lifted his leg and put all the weight on it even if it were only for a moment. His vision was another matter, he worried and fussed. She could see he found it a constant irritation. He described it as trying to look around something that stood in his way.

Sophie and Julie seemed to have come out the easiest. They were bonded like twins now and seemed happier than she had ever seen them. There were no lurking shadows in their eyes.

Kathy's head drooped. She was so tired, but every time she tried to sleep she had dreams of her baby daughter being dragged from her arms by her angry husband. They came in a hundred varieties, but all showed her the same thing. The monster who had stolen her child. Secretly she wished she could find him and kill him. She would never do it, she would never deprive her children of their mother by doing such an act. But maybe when they were grown and didn't need her anymore, she would visit him in jail… She wondered if there would be glass between them or just bars. Perhaps she could offer a conjugal visit and take a knife…

"Well, thanks for your help!" Karen slammed down the phone and put her head in her hands.

Jim twitched, stopped typing, and waited. Would she want to talk? Karen had something going she hadn't wanted to discuss with him and he didn't want to intrude, but…

"Eavesdropping, Dunbar?" she asked coolly.

He sighed. "If I don't ask I can be accused of being insensitive, if I do…" He left it unsaid that she could be a real bitch when she thought he was getting nosy about something. But still he didn't return to his report, he waited. Her squeaking chair indicated she wasn't dropping it and getting back to work, but neither was she storming off.

She sighed and swung in her chair. It was something she'd wanted to do quietly, without making a big thing of it, the problem was, she wasn't getting anywhere and wasn't willing to give up.

"Look, when you got injured, you got psych help right?"

Jim's face went through a series of contortions, how on earth could something like that be of any relevance to what Karen had going now. "So?"

"Did it help? And where'd you go to get it? I assume the city didn't provide great resources."

Jim felt like he was being attacked with these questions, he couldn't figure out why so he did what he was best at, turned it around and questioned her. "Who upset you just then?"

"Doesn't matter." Karen threw her hands in the air and stood. Maybe coffee would help.

"No, it does matter. Who upset you?" Jim's tone was mild but her eyes widened as she looked at him and his deceptively calm face. Oh no, now she'd done it. When he got that tone, there was no holding him back. He'd dig around until he found out what was going on no matter how long it took.

She massaged her temples. This was exactly what she didn't want. "Health Aid."

Jim nodded slowly. "They can be very difficult if you get the wrong people."

A small spark of hope ignited. "Could you put me onto _your _contacts?"

Jim's head moved slowly side to side in a negative gesture. "My contacts may be the wrong ones for you. Better you tell me what you're trying to achieve and then maybe…"

"I just… I … wanted to do this on my own, you know. Quietly and without fuss and on my own."

"Do what?"

"If I hear another word…"

Jim put two fingers to his chest, "Scout's honor."

"You were a scout?"

Jim just gave her a look and waited.

"Kathy Wilson. She's trying hard but she's really traumatized by what happened, and I was just trying to arrange some counseling for her. Some help."

"You been keeping in touch?"

Karen shrugged. She didn't want to admit she was still in touch with a victim. The culture in the force was, once the case was closed you cut your ties and went on to the next one. If it got out she was still involved, it could go bad for her. She swallowed and straightened her back. _So, I cared, sue me_, she thought. "Yes."

"Are the children alright?" Jim was still expressionless. She cursed not being able to read him easily when he was like this.

"Yes, they're okay." She didn't want Jim getting the idea the kids were in danger. "She'll hold it together for them but you know…she went through it too and worse in some ways."

"The other women?" Jim asked about the four other families Tomas Wilson had secreted away so he could milk the system for money.

"They all seem to be doing fine. They weren't as … abused… as Kathy and now that they're getting the welfare checks that he used to take, they're doing okay."

"So, it's just for Kathy?"

"Yes, Jim. You finished with the 3rd degree?" Karen was exasperated, he could be worse than a whole squad asking questions, but at least she knew he'd keep his mouth shut.

"I might know someone." Jim pulled out a small book from his drawer. He thumbed through the pages and found a spot. "Write this down." He read the Braille notation and gave her a number and a name. "Call them tomorrow. Get back to me if that doesn't work out." He replaced his earpiece and began typing again.

On the way home, Jim made a call to Dr. Rose's offices. When Karen called the next morning, it would appear that the open account for Kathy Wilson and family would be state funded.

Bradley Wilson loped up the street toward the 8th Precinct. He'd finished his extra classes and had enjoyed the long run from his school to Pitt Street. Bradley was an unusual teenager. He didn't take for granted his easy pace, the good glow of burn in his legs as he pumped. Over a year of rigorous physiotherapy, and a quiet determination against the injuries his father had caused him, had taught him not to take for granted that which he had won by hard work. And he had used it, Bradley could now just about count himself a jock!

Jim stepped out of the precinct doors and took the ramp to the left. "Uncle Jim! Over here." Bradley jogged up to the man who had been such a calming influence in his family's life, after catching the case that sent Tomas Wilson to jail.

"Hey, Bradley, how's your Mom?" Jim held out his hand and smiled as the young man took it and gave it a firm shake.

"She's good, she says to say hi, and you're invited to some recital that Julie has on at the end of the year. Bet it'll be boring though!"

"You wanna get something to eat?" Jim offered knowing teenagers were always hungry.

"Oh, yeah, that hamburger place?" Bradley asked hopefully.

"Yeah, come on." Jim turned Hank to the left and Bradley walked beside them.

After about the fifth non-answer from Bradley, Jim asked "So, what's she look like?"

"Who?" Bradley jumped in his skin.

"The girl you gotta be eyeing."

"Oh, well, I dunno,…" He looked at the detective in front of him, figured well, he was s detective, so that's how he'd figured it. The young waitress walked past again and Bradley relented, it wasn't as if Uncle Jim could look for himself. "She's got sort of soft looking brown hair, and beautiful brown eyes and …" His voice trailed off.

"Soft hair, like you wanna touch it?"

"Yeah, you know what I mean?"

"Sure do." Jim waited for more for a while then he prompted. "What's she wearing?"

"Oh, um, a skirt, real short and a pink sweater. Then the apron. Really shows her… um, you know." Jim suppressed a smile.

"You know her name yet?"

"No." Brad sounded shocked, "I only seen her the couple of times we've come here."

"Okay."

In a moment, Brad returned to the conversation so Jim surmised the girl wasn't in sight.

"How's school?"

"Oh, man, its great. I tell you, since I had that last operation, it's so much easier. I mean, doing all the reading in audio was such a drag, now, I get my homework done in less than half the time. My teachers are very happy with me and they say if I keep up my marks I'll be back to my own grade level by next semester."

Jim was truly happy to hear this. The kid had almost lost an eye and most of the vision in the other when his father had nearly beaten him to death. Earlier this year, he'd been moved up the list for corneal transplant recipients, and the operation had been done only a few months ago. No complications meant Bradley had regained full vision in the left eye and now what had been his 'good eye' was his worst. Jim and the family all hoped he'd be able to get another transplant and have a chance at 20/20 vision again.

Bradley chatted on about how he planned to go to college and become a police officer and then a detective just like Jim. Something that was at least possible now but had been an unreal dream when he first started saying it. Suddenly he went deathly quiet, and Jim turned to where the waitress was undoubtedly standing, "I'll have a coffee, Bradley would you like something else?"

"Um, yes, sure Uncle Jim, I'll have coffee too." Jim managed to keep the smile off his face. If Brad thought drinking coffee would impress her, so be it. "And what's your name?"

"Jennifer." Her voice was sweet, quiet and gentle.

"Thanks Jennifer, we'll have two coffees. You worked here long?"

"No, Sir, I just started, my uncle just bought this place and he can use all the help he can get. We're looking for bus boys if you're interested?"

Brad was quiet.

"Bradley, do you think that's something you might like to do?"

"What? Yeah, sure, I go to school around here, I could help out after."

"Jennifer, why don't you ask your uncle if he'd like to come chat with us?"

"Oh, okay."

"Uncle Jim!"

"Yeah?"

"What's bussing tables? Can I do it? You know…" Jim knew he meant could he do it with his visual impairment.

"You can work it out. You got full vision in your left eye right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Shh, she's coming back. And she's bringing some guy with her."

Jim turned and stood, "Jim Dunbar." He offered has hand. It was enveloped in a big meaty fist.

"Preston Wade," The man pulled up a chair and took a seat. The chair creaked under his weight and Jim imagined a big man to go with the big hand. "You're a detective at the 8th?"

"That's right." Jim sipped the coffee Jennifer had placed in front of him.

"And you wanna bus tables? It'll be a big pay cut!" The big man joked.

Jim smiled. "You're right, but perhaps it's something that would suit Bradley here?"

"You ever bussed tables before?"

"Um, no sir." Bradley wilted under the eyes of Jennifer's uncle.

"You got a part time job now?"

"Um, no sir, I've been busy up until now with extra studies."

"And you're not just asking for this job so you can hang around my niece?"

Bradley was silent while Preston chuckled. "Why don't you two go get a soda down the street and come back in, say fifteen minutes?"

"Sure, Um, Uncle Jim, we'll be at Henry's." Brad named a hang out a block back toward the precinct house.

When they were gone, Preston and Jim arranged for Bradley to have a week's trial. Jim explained his recent history.

"So that was his extra study. It made me wonder if he was a genius or the other way."

"He's a good kid. A part time job would be good for him. And you know where I am if he's not working out." He put a card on the table and slid it over.

"Sure thing."

Jim stood and offered his hand again, he checked his watch. "Looks like the kids've forgotten the time. I'll stop by, pick him up, and send Jennifer back."

**Several Months After A****nother Unrelated Case**

Fisk stepped out of the office, "What are you still doing here? I want that weapon found, even if you have to pull the place to pieces."

Tom, Marty and Karen stood reluctantly. Jim hid a grin and picked up his earpiece.

"You too, Jim, and don't come back until it's found."

"But, Boss." Jim turned a quizzical face to the boss. What could he do?

"Go along, annoy them with asking if they've looked under the beds, or whatever it is you do at crime scenes." Fisk closed the door so there'd be no disagreement. Tom and Marty held back a laugh, Fisk had been especially sarcastic lately, there was a betting pool running on if it was caused by his teenage son running amuck or if there was extra pressure coming down the lines. Anyhow, they liked that it was aimed at Dunbar and not themselves today.

Jim slapped his thigh and Hank jumped up, eager to get out of the squad. The five of them squeezed into Tom's car and headed to the small apartment on the west side.

Stepping inside the door of the perp's apartment they breathed a collective sigh of hopelessness. "So, Jim, where do you suggest we look?" Tom asked.

Jim knew he wasn't being obnoxious on purpose but still…

Karen wandered off to the bathroom. Marty squatted down next to Hank and looked him in the eye. "Hank, find the knife… go find the knife."

That was too much for Jim "Marty, leave him alone. He can't help you."

"What? I thought he was all trained up and a bona fide police dog now."

Jim sighed in exasperation and shook his head. "Forward, Hank." Hank led him through the hallway to a living room. "Find a chair." Jim said quietly and Hank led him into the small alcove of a kitchen and to the table with chairs around it. Jim plonked down.

"I'll take the kitchen," Marty called out to the others, following a pissed off Dunbar. He wandered around for a moment, open and closed the fridge, ran the tap, then he sighed, pulled up a chair opposite Jim and swung back.

"So that's it, Marty?"

"No. I'm checking out the table top. How about you take the oven? I can put the gas on for you. With any luck you'll blow the place up and we won't have to look any more." Marty laughed at his own joke. "Or you can look in the back of the pantry where it's dark anyhow."

Jim tilted his head back to relieve the tension that began to build. Once Marty got started on a line he thought was funny, it took a tow truck to get him off. "Hank, stay." Jim stood and pulled on latex gloves. He began with the cupboard under the sink, reaching in and removing every item, checking it over and placing them on top of the counter. "Marty, the knife was six inches plus handle right?"

"Yeah." Marty said, "I already went through that cupboard last time. You're not going to find anything I couldn't."

Jim heard paper, as if Marty was putting down a newspaper or something.

It was probably true but Jim would rather be doing something than just sitting waiting. He emptied the caustic smelling bottle, it was a long shot but the guy _could_ have hidden the knife in a bottle. Once empty he shook it. If there were a knife inside it would rattle.

Marty sniggered.

"What?" Jim asked.

"You just emptied a clear bottle of window cleaner. I can see even from here that it's empty."

Jim kept searching.

Karen cursed and it sounded like she was dismantling the bathroom in her frustration. Glass shattered.

Jim stopped, midway through pulling out a bucket, head cocked.

"It's okay, just a shaving mirror." Karen called.

"Ohhohh! Seven years bad luck, Karen." Marty crowed.

"That mean I'll be the same squad as you for the next seven years, Marty?" she shot back.

Jim smiled and lifted the bucket to the counter where he began emptying it Stinking wet rags, mangled scrubbers and several inches of dirty water made it into the sink.

Tom could be heard in the bedroom, emptying the closet and humming something catchy.

Marty pulled a bottle of water from his coat pocket and took a gulp. "Anyhow, Jim, you never answered me about Hank. Isn't he all licensed and trained up now?"

Jim shook his head, Marty was persistent, he had to give him that. "Yes, he's licensed but specifically to work with me. Not in any other police function. The whole thing was done so he could be protected under the K9 unit defense." Jim held up his hand, "And before you ask, no he can't find the knife. He's not trained in search."

"Oh." Marty sounded disappointed. "Well, what did you and Karen spend all that time on? Other than Karen making goo goo eyes at Captain Phillips?"

Jim kept his face neutral, although he too had been amused by Karen's obvious attraction to the Captain. "We learned some new commands for dealing with situations a normal guide dog isn't expected to be put in."

"Like what?" Marty pressed, after all it seemed to him all Hank had to do was walk around and make sure Dunbar didn't step in front of a car or into a pothole or something.

"Well, a normal guide dog isn't expected to have to remain steady through gunfire for example."

"So he's not scared of the sound if a perp lets one off?"

"Or if Karen fires her weapon, which is likely be close to us and could stress a regular dog." Jim knelt in front of the cupboard again but it was empty now. Briefly he wondered if he should remove the back panel and see if there was a hidden compartment.

"That's it? You took all those days off work for that?"

Jim measured the depth of the cupboard and then stood. No, the counter and the cupboard were the same, no hidden compartments. "Well, he knows that a gun aimed at me or her is a bad thing. He has verbal and silent attack commands, a hold command for helping me keep a perp contained. That sort of thing." Jim still felt a little uncomfortable talking with Marty about something like this and wished he'd let it go now.

"I think you should brief us." Marty said, "So we know what his limits are, like we had to get to know yours."

Karen wandered in, "Yeah, you guys should know. Let's see, now he knows not to step in blood, and to walk Jim around it or other suspicious things in a crime scene. If someone points a gun at Jim, now Hank's trained to crouch down facing the gunman which does two things, it lessens the dog as a target and alerts Jim to the direction of the shooter."

"And what - he's been taught how to disarm the guy?" Marty's eyes lit up - that could be useful.

"Well, we have this." Karen made a sign and pointed at Marty. Hank turned to Marty, raised his top lip and began a low growl. Jim waited patiently until Karen gave the cancel signal and Hank relaxed again. Then he called Hank to his side.

"Wow. And you can give them too?" Marty was impressed.

"Only this one and the defend one," Karen admitted. "But they're fun, and useful," she added. She thought Jim was a bit overly touchy in this area. As if she didn't take his need for Hank seriously.

Jim remembered the case, where Captain John Phillips told the court that Hank had merely taken the action he was trained to take when given the "Defend" command. It was true, by the time the court heard of it Hank was trained to launch himself at a perp when given the command. The Captain had continued to explain that the dog was merely a tool used by the detectives to defend themselves. Jim had heard the wonder in Karen's voice as she described the jury all nodding along with Captain Phillips when he asked them if the female detective had been right in using force to subdue the violent offender who had attacked her disabled partner. John had turned it around so the issue wasn't a dog attack but a policewoman's right to defend her partner. As uncomfortable as it had been they both admired the man's ability to tell the story.

"And it doesn't confuse him, you know, distract him from being a seeing eye dog?" Tom asked from the doorway, bringing Jim's mind back to the kitchen of the small apartment.

Jim shook his head and patted the dog. "No. It's just now we have more possible behaviors to cope with the unusual situations I'm likely to take him into. Like…" Jim thought for a moment, "a drug squad K-9 isn't working as a security dog but he might have a couple of commands for a chase and subdue, for example."

"Is Hank going to be trained on chase and subdue?" Karen asked Jim.

"It was on the list of possibles that we first put together but I'm a bit wary of it because I need Hank with me, not running down a fleeing suspect. John says it could come in handy. You know, if it's something I would be doing if I could see." Jim bit his lip and squatted down to explore the cupboard again.

The detectives were all quiet for a moment.

"So if he's not trained in search, how'd he find that kid?" Marty wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.

"Kathy Wilson and her baby?" Jim asked.

"Yeah."

Jim just shrugged. "Fluke."

"Maybe he's spooky like you." Tom suggested from the door frame where he'd propped himself after giving up on the bedroom and came to listen to Karen talk about Hank's training.

"Spooky?" Jim asked, giving up on the cupboard for now and pulling himself up to sit on the counter.

"Yeah, you know how you sit for hours, thinking, and then come up a wild theory and it pans out." Tom said around his chewing gum. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's a good thing, just spooky."

Karen plonked into the chair and stole a stick of Trident from Tom. She watched Jim who was picking at the laminate top where it had a crack in it. He chewed his lip and swung his legs a little.

"Unless Jim finds the knife hidden in a tube of oven scrubber, I don't think we're going to come up with anything new." Marty said stretching out and putting his feet on a spare chair. He yawned.

Jim ignored him, the laminate began to lift under his hand.

"Why don't we just wait here until the Boss comes looking for us? Then he can't say we gave up too early," Tom agreed.

"This perp reads comic books right?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, so?" Karen's sarcasm rang out clearly. "You want me to get you one?"

"I'll read it to you like a bedtime story." Marty joked. "And Karen can do the pictures." He mimed at Karen, indicating she could draw them on Jim's face.

Jim ignored them. "Did you search the fridge? Comic book perps always keep their weapons in the fridge, frozen in the ice box or something."

The three detectives gave each other speculative looks. Marty sighed, slammed his paper down on the table and stood up. He opened the fridge and went through it, throwing old stinking vegetables into the sink, pouring drinks in, and giving disgusting descriptions of each item. "…And one Sara Lee frozen chocolate cake, expiration date is like half a year ago." Marty was obviously shocked someone could leave a chocolate cake so long uneaten. "Well, at least you can tell the Boss you did your bit, Jim."

Jim nodded with a small smile. He hadn't been entirely serious about the fridge thing. But you never knew. His standard was when you'd looked in all the likely places, look at the unlikely, when you'd looked at all the possibilities, look at the impossible. And it sounded like they had looked everywhere else.

Karen started pacing. She began tossing some of the things Marty had left on the bench into a garbage bag. She hefted the chocolate cake. Funny, it felt heavy and… unbalanced. She pulled a kitchen knife from the bloc on the counter and sliced through the wrapping, there! She hit something.

She dropped the cake into the sink, and ran the water on it. Marty and Tom craned their neck to figure out what she was up to. With brown goo coating her fingers she gave a triumphant whoop. "Whoo hoo, lookey here!"

"What?" Jim asked.

"Spooky, Jim." Tom said.

"It's a bowie knife, six inch blade, inside the frozen cake," She crowed.

"And that's either raspberry sauce or frozen blood." Marty added.

"Great," Jim pulled an evidence bag from his coat and held it out, "bag it and let's go."


End file.
